So that's what he wanted. For me to say his song was good and give him a pat on the head. He would sure learn different because I hated that song so much. It was an invasion. Dragging our lives into the spotlight without even telling me.
"Whatever. Drew, can you take over for a while?"
I might be doing the stupidest thing ever but I needed to get away from Holden and I really needed a cigarette. What could go wrong anyway?
Chapter 11
I DRAGGED ON MY CIGARETTE, reluctant to go back out there. When I did, I'd have the whole force of Holden to dea
l with. I only had so much self-control before I either fucked him or killed him. It could go either way with how he made me feel.
I couldn't deny that there was something simmering under the surface but it was just lust. He had the road map to all my secret places and he knew how to use it. Not just the physical places on my body that he'd use to drive me mad — the back of my neck, the insides of my wrist, the backs of my knees—there was also the mental stuff. The looks that melted me and the way he'd pause just a little too long when he talked, loading his words with so much meaning beneath the surface. He was like the Google Maps of Carlie but it was all just manipulation and deceit.
If I killed him, maybe it'd be for the best. Much better than the fall out if I fucked him. I might get jail time but it'd be a first offense with time off for good behavior. If I fucked him, I’d be in jail for life with no parole and no escape.
I sat at Violet's desk, swinging around in her chair. She'd left the place so tidy. I guess she was as bored as she'd said.
"Carlie! Carlie! Help!"
My stomach clenched. What the hell had Drew done?
I rushed out to the bar, hoping he hadn't set the place on the fire. If Alex's new sound desk got hurt, there'd be hell to pay. I scanned the room. There were only a couple of people sitting in the corner and a loner on the couch. It sure looked weird not to have Jackson sitting at the bar. Everything seemed fine, though. No flames, no explosions.
It must've been something major though because he yelled like a little bitch.
I spun around and, shit! Beer sprayed everywhere. Drew tried to control the beer tap and Holden tried to help him but that beer turned into a fountain.
Beer drenched Drew. Holden hung back but beer sprayed over him too.
I ran to fix it, my feet squelching on the floor.
"What's going on?"
I lunged for the tap. It sprayed up at me as I tried to get near it, stinging my eyes, but I had to ignore it so I could fix this mess. I gave it a hard yank and that turned off some of the flow, enough for me to disconnect the pipes.
"I wasn't sure which way to turn it and it seemed to get stuck."
Even the sound of his voice annoyed me. How hard was it to look after a bar for five minutes? He whined as though he'd been the one wronged.
"You can't use a beer tap? But you've been shown."
Drew stared at the floor. "I wasn't sure. I panicked."
"Get the mop, Drew."
The place was a mess. I'd have to explain to Alex why I'd left Drew in charge and I couldn't even blame it on not having anyone else to cover me since I didn't want him knowing that the staff had been flaking on me. The blame laid squarely on my shoulders, but Drew didn't help matters. Surely, I could leave the bar for five minutes without chaos breaking out.
Before Drew got back with the mop, Holden grabbed a pile of bar towels to help clean up. My apron stopped a lot of the beer from wetting my clothes but my hair was soaked and beer dripped down my legs. I stunk like hell.
Holden took one of the towels and mopped my leg. Backed into the corner, I didn't even try to stop him. He patted the towel against my thigh and I raised my leg so he could get it all.
Fuck, he stood so close to me. Even with the beer stench, I could recognize that familiar smell of him. Even now, he smelt like a country boy, in a good way. Clean and outdoorsy. That smell lunged straight to the weakest part of my heart.
His hands on my legs, with his firm touch, created another flood of memories. All those moments when we weren't angry and fighting or hurting each other. There’d been good times.
He rubbed the towel against my leg, drying me off but making me wetter. As he rubbed, his hand closed around my waist to get traction. He squatted so that he could clean me up better and his breath toyed with the flesh on my thigh.
A moan escaped me without any intention on my part. He was trying to help but he did things to me I couldn’t resist. At least the canvas apron hid my rock-hard nipples.